Trigger
by aavonlea
Summary: In which Ward reflects on his time in prison, and comes up with a way to finally open up to his team, as well as a way to make things right again. Mostly, though, he reflects on what it means to have a defining moment.


_**(A/N)**__SURPRISE__! I'm not dead! I've just been struggling with some _really_bad writer's block. I'm trying to force myself out of it because not writing anything for almost a year is torture. So, since this is my first fanfic of any kind for several months, it might be terrible. I don't care, I just want to post something so you guys know I haven't abandoned you. I posted this on my tumblr blog too._

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**_Trigger_**

_I've talked about defining moments before. We all have. Every agent of SHIELD has a defining moment. Most people in general have a defining moment at some point in their lives. A defining moment is when you decide whether to turn left or right. To say yes or no. To stand back up or stay on the ground. To do or die. To pull the trigger… or drop the gun._

Ward breathed in a shaking breath, closing his eyes for a moment in order to take a step back. Jesus, he never had a problem letting his thoughts run clearly before… or at least not for a good long time, anyway. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, taking in everything around him.

The blank walls, a pasty, bland gray color, devoid of warmth. The room was uniformly square, with bleak artificial light filling it from the bulbs on the ceiling. No windows to see the outside world through. Not for him. He sat on his small mattress on the floor, decorated with a single gray blanket matching the color of the walls. These were his quarters. His prison quarters. There was no visible door, no windows, nothing to let him know he wasn't alone in the world. To be honest, he quite often liked it this way. It brought him back to the months… years he spent almost completely alone in the forests of Wyoming. He wished he could go back to that time, back when things were scary but clear, back when choices were easy to make, back when moments didn't have to define him.

_Yes, I've talked about defining moments. They're integral for every agent, every person. Pull the trigger or drop the gun. But you don't just have one defining moment. You can have a lot of them… too many of them. Do or die. Stand up or stay down. Pull the trigger. Each one leads to a new road, a new way. But all of my moments… well I've always put myself on the same road, so it's like there's no other way._

"Goddammit," Ward whispered to himself, hardly managing to keep his hand from shaking. "My God…"

He wiped his hands through his hair, looking back up at the room, drinking in every detail before they disappeared. Solitude brought its own set of blessings and curses. He had time to think about everything that happened and everything that was still going to happen. He had time to consider it all. He wondered if SHIELD would ever understand what it means to be a survivor, what it means to want it to all turn out okay. SHIELD had always been too black and white to get it. HYDRA cared about the survivors. Ward was a survivor and for a long time had been through with people walking on him, controlling him.

That's why he knew what he had to do.

_Our lives are filled with defining moments. Defining moments make us or break us. And I think that if you mess up on one, another one is always coming. We can always fix it._

From the other end of the room, a crease appeared in what had appeared to be a solid wall. A hole grew in it, the door sliding sideways, seeming to disappear back into the wall. In through the hole stepped a middle-aged woman with a stern face, flanked by guards wielding military-grade guns. The woman was holding a tray of food.

Grant looked at her, then back down at the words he'd just written on the page, then back at her. She held up a hand to the guards, signaling them to step back out of the room. The door slid shut and they were alone in his cell.

"Lunch," said the woman. "Make sure you eat it all. You'll need it."

He glanced down at the tray, peering at her right hand as she lowered it to him. He took the tray, and in the moment before she brought her hands back to her sides, he saw her hold out her three middle fingers. _Three minutes. _He could almost see the words forming on her lips, _Hail HYDRA_.

"Not hungry," he said back, though he dug the plastic spoon through the mashed potatoes.

"Not listening," she said. "Thought you'd be used to following orders by now, Ward. Isn't that what your little organization is all about? Order?"

"Maybe. To me, it's about survival. And not getting stepped on," Grant replied. Just as his spoon hit a small hard object concealed within the potatoes, he put the tray down and went back to writing.

_They've stepped on me. And now they pay the price. This is my new defining moment. I'm making a new path, a new way. It's time to do or die. It's time to decide whether I pull the trigger or put the gun down._

_This is all my fault. All of it. I'm sorry. I won't ask for forgiveness, because that's something I'll have to earn, but I'm letting you know that I'm sorry. I've done a lot… too much. I am sorry. I did care. I do care._

Grant put the pencil down and closed the book. Over the past few months, he'd filled it completely with his story. He hadn't taken the opportunity to open up to the team when he was with them, so he was doing it now. Grant looked back up at the woman, staring at him with stoic eyes. Then she made one slow, intent blink.

He threw the tray across the room to the door just as the explosion went off. HYDRA soldiers were coming in, and it was time for him to move. The woman was beside him, running as swiftly as he was, handing him a handgun. The HYDRA soldiers had made a path already for them, and getting through to the roof was easy for an agent like Grant Ward.

"The jet will take us straight back to HQ," said the woman as they made their way to the aircraft waiting there. It was bustling with activity of the HYDRA soldiers. Grant noticed the bodies of government soldiers lying everywhere, as well as pools of blood.

Red filled his vision, and he let it. It wasn't often that death phased him anymore.

As they entered the cockpit of the jet, he thought back on the last few months he'd spent in solitude. He almost craved for them, knowing what was to come. This was the first sunlight he'd seen since his arrest, but he now wished he go back to the artificial light. No, he wished he could go back to the months he'd spent with his dog in the backcountry of Wyoming. Before HYDRA, before SHIELD. When he was allowed to be a survivor in peace. But they stepped on him, forcing him here.

Pull the trigger... or drop the gun.

In one swift motion, he'd raised his handgun to the woman's head, and pulled the trigger. She crumpled to the ground and he took control of the jet.

Comforted by the knowledge that he'd left the journal in his cell, where Coulson's team was sure to be the ones to investigate and find it, he let the gun slip from his fingers.

He had a lot of plans for the people who had stepped on him. And a lot to do if he was ever going to make things right.

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_**(A/N)**__ How was that? PLEASE GIVE ME FEEDBACK!_


End file.
